He's Only A Child
by sarcasticbananas
Summary: Georges Melies does NOT care about the little thief who has been helping him with his shop for the past few weeks, and definitely doesn't worry about him. So when Hugo begins to look pale and tired all of the time, he definitely doesn't notice. And even if he does it's not his problem. But when Isabelle starts coming to him with concerns, he does notice. Definitely. Sick!Hugo
1. Chapter 1

Georges Melies did not care for Hugo Cabaret, and he definitely did not care about him. But still, he couldn't help but notice how tired the boy looked today. He sat in the back of the shop, fixing the small toys and trinkets at a much slower pace then was normal.

"Boy" Georges called to him. Hugo looked up, slight bags framed his eyes, making him look as though he had missed several nights sleep. He coughed, and Georges realized that he didn't have a legitimate reason to have spoken. Inwardly, he knew that he had just wanted to see the boys face, but no. He didn't care about him.

"Why are you working so slowly? You should be able to finish that in half the time you're taking," He'd made this up on the spot, although once he thought about it a bit, he honestly did want to know.

Hugo looked down at his feet, "Sorry, my other job has been taking longer than usual."

The boy seemed slightly ashamed at this fact, and Georges wondered what could be so important about his thievery, but still he scoffed

"Thievery is nothing to be proud of boy, what do I care if you can't hurry it up and get some sleep"

Hugo looked defiant, "I told you, I have a different job. It's just been taking longer than it should."

"Well try to get some sleep tonight, you'll never get your notebook back at this rate"

**********************************************BREAKLINE*********************************************

Hugo did not run from the toy shop back to the hole in the wall as he normally would have. He walked slowly, wincing as each step jarred his pounding head a little more. He glanced back at the toy seller, who was looking at him oddly. Hugo quickly stopped wincing, and painstakingly held his composure until he was out of sight.

When he arrived at his apartment in the walls Hugo immediately collapsed onto the bed shivering. Heat radiated from his face and body, yet he felt no warmth. The entire room spun around him at a dizzying speed escalating the pain in his head to a level that nearly made him scream. He shut his eyes tight and let out a low moan that quickly turned in to a coughing fit. Air was catching in his throat, making it impossible to take a breath. He wrapped his arms around his middle, forcing air into his lungs and trying desperately not to cry.

"Oh no," he croaked aloud, once he could breath "I can't be sick."

But he knew he was.

He wrapped the thin bed sheet around himself, and trying to find one spot in the frigid room that that had a bit of heat. He finally settled down on the bed again, placing his aching head on the frozen pillow and attempted to get a bit of sleep before he had to get up an check the clocks.

Each tick of the small watch hanging by his bedside increased the pain in his skull until Hugo felt it might burst. Finally his head hurt so badly, that his well contained tears burst forth, creating hot wet lines down his even hotter face.

This was going to be a long night.

****************************************BREAKLINE***************************************************

While Hugo was shivering in his bed, Georges walked briskly home. For some reason, he couldn't get the boy out of his head. That day, Hugo had repaired or built only five toys during all the hours he'd been there. Usually, the boy could have done twice that much in half the time. It didn't make sense. Gorges shook his head in disgust. What was he doing thinking about the thief? It didn't matter, the boy was obviously getting on well enough with his "jobs".

Nevertheless, a new question arose in Georges' mind. Where did the boy live? It seemed as if he never left the station, but where could he stay where he wouldn't be found by the station inspector? These questions were drifting about Gorges' mind when he walked into his house.

His wife greeted him at the door.

"How was work?" She asked

"Fine fine" he answered vaguely, still wondering internally about where Hugo resided.

But she would have none of that. "Georges, I can see that you are distracted, what is wrong? Did something happen at work?.

Georges sighed, "It is the thief, Hugo. He seemed ill. He is only a boy, and I can't help but wonder where he lives."

"How did he seem ill, maybe he was simply tired?"

"That's what he claimed, but I'm not sure, he was very pale and his work took much longer than it usually does."

Jeanne smiled, "You are not worried about him are you Georges?"

Georges scoffed, "Me? No. I simply want him to work faster. My shop has been getting good business of late. I need to keep up."

"Of course Georges, whatever you say." Jeanne said playfully as she swept from the room. 


	2. Chapter 2

When Hugo woke up, it was still dark outside. A light snow was falling past his small window, and the ground below was covered with a layer of white powder. It was a stunning sight, but Hugo did not notice it. His face and body were covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and he could feel the heat on his skin, yet he felt frozen.

Shivering, he trudged through the thin sheet of snow on the floor that had come in through the cracked walls, until he reached the first clock. He wound it and timed it correctly, oiling it precisely. His shaking hands were so slow today, it was actually a good thing that he woke up so early. Otherwise he'd never have finished with the clocks on time.

At about seven, he was finished. As quickly as he could, which wasn't very, he combed back his hair, washed his face, and all in all tried to make himself a bit more presentable. Isabelle's godfather would probably send him away if he knew that he was sick, and Hugo couldn't afford that. He needed his notebook.

He exited the hole in the wall, and slowly walked to the toy shop. Georges was sitting by the front, reding the morning paper. As Hugo approached, the toy seller looked up expectantly. His eyes widened for a moment before his blank expression reappeared. Hugo guessed that he didn't fix himself up as much as he'd thought.

Throughout the day, Georges gave Hugo small chores to do around the shop, all of which involved walking around or lifting, while watching the boy closely as he did them. After he finished each chore, Hugo looked a bit more tired and pale, and coughs rang out more frequently from the young child.

"You can go, boy," Georges finally sighed, after watching Hugo struggle to carry a chest of toys across the shop for a few minutes.

Hugo put down the chest and looked back at the old man wide eyed, "What? Why!"

Georges could see that he was distraught by the very idea of delaying the return of his precious notebook, but Georges was not a cruel man, the boy was obviously in great pain, and he pitied the child. Not that he would tell him that.

"I have some private matters to attend to and I'm closing early. You can come in tomorrow. Don't cry out like that, it won't affect anything to do with your notebook."

Hugo seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, then he quickly exited the shop, and walked towards the book store around the corner.

*******************************************BREAKLINE************************************************

Isabelle was reading. It wasn't unusual, especially since she was in a book shop, but she wasn't paying attention to her book. She was waiting for Hugo. He wasn't supposed to be there for about an hour, but she always came early just to read.

Suddenly she heard footsteps behind her.

"Hugo," she exclaimed happily, "you're early."

He smiled tiredly, "Yeah, your godfather told me to go. Said he had some stuff to do. Do you know what he was talking about?"

Isabelle shook her head, "No, I don't think he's doing anything tonight."

Hugo frowned and sat down across from her.

"But why would he make up something? He said I could come back tomorrow, so I don't think he wants me gone. Could he-" suddenly he broke off into a fit of coughing. Thick coughs that were painful to listen to resounded from him as his pale form shook with the pressure.

Isabelle stood up in a panic and watched helplessly as the smaller child struggled to catch his breath. Hugo's hands rose to cover his mouth, as he tried to stifle the coughs that pained his chest.

Isabelle reached over and placed her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down, and was shocked at the heat radiating through his surprisingly thin clothes.

"Hugo, are you all right," she whispered as soon as his breathing returned to normal, "You're so warm, are you ill?"

He looked up suddenly, "No, no. I'm fine." He stood up, quickly pulling away from her grasp.

"Hugo!" she cried as he ran down the corridor. But he was out of sight before she could follow.

*****************************************BREAKLINE**************************************************

Isabelle raced across the train station, searching for her Papa Georges. There was something wrong with Hugo, she had heard Mama Jeanne and he talking about it the night before, and she was going to find out what it was.

She arrived at the toy booth just as he was packing up.

"Papa Georges!" She called, running up to him, "I need to ask you something!"

"Isabelle! I was just about to come get you. What is it?" he smiled down at her as he locked up.

She crossed her arms and looked up at him seriously, "What is wrong with Hugo."

Georges brow furrowed as he looked down upon the sour faced little girl starting up at him. "What do you mean Isabelle."

"Don't act like you don't know, I heard you and Mama Jeanne talking last night. What is wrong with him."

He sighed, "I believe that the boy is ill."

Isabelle opened her mouth as if to speak but her godfather cut her off.

"I know what you're going to say but there's nothing I can do. He'll have to take care of it with his family."

She looked desperate, "But Papa Georges what if he doesn't have a family!"

"Then I'll have to take him to the station inspector." Georges solemnly stated. But that, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.

"How could you! This boy has been loyal to you, and completely changed his ways for you, even though you stole his notebook, yet you still mean to betray him at the slightest chance! How could you!"

She dashed out into the snow sobbing, leaving her godfather standing alone at the toy booth, dumbstruck. He remembered every innocent child he'd seen dragged off by the station inspector, the look of pure terror and despair on their tiny faces.

"You're right Isabelle," he whispered to himself, "But what else can I do?" 


	3. Chapter 3

Hugo couldn't let Isabelle discover how sick he was. Her godfather would call the station inspector, and then what would happen to the clocks? To the automaton? To him! No, it was much better to just suffer in silence.

But this was becoming more and more difficult as harsh coughs rand out more frequently from the young boy. He felt sick to his stomach, but he couldn't let anyone know. It was torture.

The clocks were finally finished. It had taken him so long, that he was hours late for the toy shop, even though he hadn't slept a wink trying to work on them. Hugo wiped the grease off his hands onto his pants hurriedly as he raced to be at least somewhat on time, forgetting his ragged jacket in the process.

Georges stood at the front of the booth, looking down the hall expectantly as he had the day before. Hugo was late, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, that worried him.

The old man smiled in relief as the squeak of shoes on tile told him that Hugo had arrived. He turned around to reprimand the boy, and cover his relief, but something stopped him in his tracks.

"Boy," he whispered in astonishment, "Are you alright?"

Hugo's worn jacket was gone, his ghost white arms revealed and shaking. His face was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and his cheeks burned bright red with fever. His normally bright blue eyes were dull and clouded with pain, and the boy's entire body shook rapidly.

"Y-yes. I'm f-fine." the boy stuttered, "Don't call t-the st-tation inspec-" Hugo's voice broke as he started to cough harshly, even louder and more painfully than the day before.

Georges stood and watched in horror as the boy doubled over, his hands over his mouth as he attempted in vain to stop coughing. With one harsh final cough into his hands, Hugo stood up, panting. Suddenly he looked down at his hands. A single drop of deep red slid through his fingers and onto the floor. Hugo's eyes widened as he slowly turned to look at Georges. Their eyes met, then he bolted outside.

Georges slowly bent down and looked at the red drop staining the floor.

"so," he said to himself," The boy is coughing blood."

And he followed Hugo out into the snow.

*******************************************NEXT-CHAPTER******************************************

The world was spinning at all angles and snow blurred his vision, but Hugo kept running. If Isabelle's godfather found him, he'd take him to the station inspector and then... well, Hugo couldn't really think that far right now. Run run run run run run run run. He had no idea where he was, but suddenly he was face first in a snow drift.

There was loud music coming from a building nearby, and he was in some sort of back ally. A door opened in front of him and two men, one large, one small, emerged from the bar.

"I can't believe him! Throwing us out like that! I just wanna hit something!" the bigger guy slurred, stumbling out on to the snow.

The smaller, rat like, man backed up, almost tripping over Hugo, "Well don't hit me Jacq, here, hit this," he said, picking up Hugo by his collar, "It's almost dead anyways."

Hugo squirmed weakly, but the rat was right, he was almost dead, and he felt it. He should have never left the station, he should have just gone to the station inspector, he should have-

His thoughts were interrupted by a large fist cracking against his chest. Pain exploded from his ribs and and blood burst from his lips as a painful cough forced its way up his throat. He was suddenly slammed up against the ally wall, his head cracking on the hard stone.

The ally spun around him at a dizzying speed everything seemed slow and fuzzy, like he was looking at it through a foggy window. He heard a piercing shriek cut through the air, and vaguely recognized it as his own. He heard shouts from the other end of the ally, and suddenly he was falling, falling, falling until he landed on the snowless rock by the bar doorstep. There was a sickening snap as his left arm twisted underneath him and shattered. All feeling left his arm, and the swirling of his surroundings was making him sick.

Then someone was holding him, cradling him gently in strong arms, while running. But Hugo couldn't focus on this, something else was going to happen soon, and he didn't want it to happen while his face was buried in an unknown mans chest.

"PUT ME DOWN!" he shrieked, twisting and squirming in the arms that held him. "Please! Put me down NOW!"

Hesitantly, his anonymous savior placed him in the snow. Hugo turned and faced the bare ground, propping himself up onto his good arm as he was violently sick into the ice. Tears made their way down his face as the pain in his arm and stomach grew to match the fire in his head. A cool hand was placed on his forehead, as blood on sick came spewing out of his mouth once more.

"Are you done Hugo?" his rescuer asked in a calm tone that Hugo had never heard pointed at him. Could it be...?

"Y-your Isabelle's g-godfather?" He stuttered, his voice shaking with cold and fear.

"Yes," Georges said in the same, overly calm voice, "and you are very sick."

"D-don't take me t-to the station inspect-tor. P-please!" Hugo gasped.

Georg's looked at the child shivering in his arms, and spoke truthfully, "I would never do that."

Hugo sighed and as his eyelids slid closed, Georges raced to save his life.

********************************************NEXT-CHAPTER*****************************************

Isabelle was angry with her godfather. How could he even say that he would turn Hugo in? It was just inhumane! Unimaginable! She couldn't imagine it. And now he was late home from work, probably because he had just betrayed her best friend.

She heard the door open and stalked out if the foyer into her room. She wouldn't look at him. Suddenly there was a gasp, and the whispered words "Jeanne, call the doctor." Isabelle emerged hesitantly from her room, and like her godmother, gasped at the sight before her.

Georges was holding a shivering boy in his arms, and it wasn't just any boy, It was Hugo. He was wearing only a thin shirt and short ripped pants. His overly thin body shook, and one arm lay limp and mangled by his side. Sweat and blood matted his hair to his too pale face, and his breathing was labored.

"What happened?" Isabelle breathed, unable to comprehend what she saw.

"Some drunkards found an easy punching bag." George's growled, all distaste for the boy in his arms long gone.

Jeanne came back in, looking flustered. "He's on his way. Georges who did that? How-" She was cut off by a ring of the doorbell.

"Quickly get the door, I'll put him on the bed." Georges said, carrying Hugo into the spare room.

Isabelle stood and watched dumbstruck as Jeanne lead the doctor into the spare room.

************************************TWO-WEEKS-LATER*******************************************

Hugo hurt. His chest hurt, his throat hurt, his head hurt especially. The only thing that didn't hurt was his left arm, but he couldn't feel that at all, so it wasn't much better. Something was wrong, aside from his evident injuries, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Then it came to him. No ticking. There weren't any clocks. But if he wasn't with the clocks, where was he?

He cracked his eyes open, squinting as the evening light aggravated his headache. He was in a bed, a real bed, bigger than the cot he had back home. He was in a room nicer than his own too. There was a dresser and a window, with the curtains drawn, and no holes or cracks in the walls. He heard footsteps outside his door, and watched it open slowly. A head peeked inside hesitantly, and burst into a huge smile when it saw he was awake?

"Isabelle?" Hugo asked in a dry voice.

"You're awake!" she squealed happily "I have to go tell Papa Georges!" She started to run out of the room, but stopped when he called for her.

"Isabelle wait!" She turned around to face him, "Where am I?"

She laughed, "It's kind of a long story, but I have to go get Papa Georges."

She left, and after a minute, re-entered with her godfather in tow.

"See Papa Georges!" she was saying, "He's awake! For real this time!"

Hugo looked up at Georges from his bed. The old man wasn't glaring at him as he usually did, but smiling in relief. It almost seemed as if Georges was GLAD he was alright. But that was impossible, the man hated him.

"How do you feel." Georges asked, surprising Hugo slightly.

"Fine," he lied, not wanting to give the man an opportunity to call him out in whining. But he was met with a different kind of rant.

"Don't start that boy. Everyone here knows that you are definitely NOT fine. You've been unconscious for two weeks, concussion, pneumonia, lung infection. Everything imaginable was and is wrong with you boy, so DO NOT say you are fine!"

Hugo looked down in shame, "Sorry."

Georges' tone softened, "Let's try it again shall we? How do you feel?"

Hugo coughed lightly before replying, "I... hurt. Everywhere. Except my left arm. That I can't feel at all."

Georges didn't seem surprised by this information, but he frowned sadly when Hugo mentioned his arm.

This troubled Hugo for some reason he couldn't understand. Why would that make Georges sad? What was wrong with his arm!

"Why can't I feel my arm..." he asked slowly.

Georges sighed and Isabelle looked away. Hugo looked down in a panic. What was wrong... What was wrong... What was wrong with his arm...

Where was his arm?

"Where is my arm."

No answer.

"Where is my arm."

His voice was calm, and forceful, and still no one replied.

"WHERE IS IT!"

There were tears flowing out of his eyes. But he didn't try to stop them. He couldn't fix things anymore. No clocks. No toys. No gears. No nothing. You can't fix things without two arms, two hands. He only had one.

******************************************BREAKLINE*************************************************

One doctor said that he was in shock.

Another doctor said that he was crazy.

Yet another said it was brain damage from the concussion.

They were all wrong, but Hugo didn't bother to set them straight. If his arm was gone, he couldn't fix things, he was useless. Why was it worth talking? Why was it worth living? It wasn't. So Hugo Cabaret hadn't spoken in three months.

They had taken him to a therapist who had turned out to be a madman testing the limits of shock therapy. He had twelve scars from that.

He had gone to a hospital that gave him a drug which made him see horrible things, day and night. He had screamed then. The doctors called that progress. George's called it torture. Hugo still had nightmares.

A spiritualist doctor from Spain said that he had evil spirits inside of him, and cut his chest in elaborate designs. It got infected and Hugo's almost constant fever rose above 106 degrees. He had eighteen scars from that.

Some strange doctor in colorful clothing thought that he needed to let his senses loose with acupuncture, and a four day "vacation" in isolation. As it turned out, she just liked stabbing him with needles when she was angry. Or drunk. When she was drunk, she hit him too, just like Jacq and the rat had. Hugo didn't sleep much anymore.

Isabelle would talk to him. She sit and talk to him in his room, telling him about her day and her friends and pretending that he was listening. At night, when he couldn't sleep, and he'd wake up in a cold sweat, thrashing round silently in his bed out of fear, he'd hear her. Crying. Crying about him, because of him. It made him sad. But not sad enough to talk.


End file.
